Another Life: Between the Sheets
by BerkieLynn
Summary: Companion to Another Life, a place for the M-rated chapter(s)
1. Almost Famous

_A/N: This is part of the AU universe of my fic, Another Life, but is being posted as a separate story to keep the rating down on that one. You don't have to read the whole thing to get the idea, but the first two chapters will set you up nicely for this. Go ahead, I'll wait. . . . Got the gist? Good._

_I am not certain that there will be other M rated chapters but I will leave this as In Progress until the main story is Complete._

_Thanks to Lou for being an amazing cheerleader and to Jennifer and Bee for looking this over._

* * *

**Almost Famous**

* * *

She. Is wearing. Lace.

Kate Beckett. In lace.

All she told him was that they had a lead and she was on her way to talk to someone, did he want in? When it required her to change clothes and he questioned her on why, he immediately tried to get out of it. He will do a lot of things to spend time in her company but a male strip club is where he draws the line. She spit out acquiescence after he whined for the fourth time with the caveat that she change first since they were nearly to her place.

He poked around her living room while he waited, grinned at her Richard Castle collection, ran his finger over the spines of thin volumes of poetry, the large bindings of classics. He lifted knick-knacks off the shelves, elephants and owls, admired the few framed photos she had, a stiffly-posed family portrait, a few candid shots of young Kate with her mother, one with her father when she's older, sitting on a dock, fishing rods in hand. He had just set that photo down when the bedroom door opened and she came out wearing that.

Castle's not certain how he didn't explode on the spot.

There's lace everywhere. Black fabric cups her breasts but a wide swath of lace outlines the swell of her chest. The damn thing looks see through but upon closer inspection (because of course he's looking closer), it appears to be a nude colored fabric under the lace that makes up the body of the dress. If you can even call it that. With the indecently short hemline and practically useless spaghetti straps, it qualifies more as lingerie.

"You're wearing that?" he squeaks, immediately clearing his throat in hopes that anything else he says doesn't make him sound like a 14 year old boy.

(Not that he can deny that he feels like one right now.)

She tilts her head at him, a smirk twisting her pink, glossy lips, a sparkle glinting from her coal-smudged eyes and plants a hand on a hip. Every rational thought that he's ever had is suddenly wiped from his brain and replaced with images of her. Images of her in that dress, out of that dress. Tactile visions of nudging that strap off her shoulder with his nose as he kisses his way across her shoulder. How her thighs would feel gripped in his hands, steadying her as she wraps her luscious legs around his waist. Pulling the lace aside to unveil her rosy nipples, lowering his head to suck-

"Castle!"

He snaps his head up when she barks out his name, finds her glaring at him in a way that she probably thinks is threatening but only enhances her devastating beauty. He doesn't even attempt to look chagrined, just quirks an eyebrow at her. She huffs exasperatedly, sliding her arms into the jacket she had brought out of the bedroom as well. Though, "jacket" might be a generous term for the sheer chiffon that does nothing to occlude his vision of her lace-covered ass as she walks toward the front door.

"Let's get going," she says, shoving her badge and wallet into a clutch. "I still need to take you home before I head over there."

"Oh no, I'm coming with you." He's finally spurred into motion at her words, crossing the distance to where she stands in the foyer.

"Really?" He should be afraid of that tone, the sharp and cold bite of the word.

"Yeah. Don't want you going in without back-up."

"How altruistic of you," she comments dryly, clearly disbelieving.

* * *

He can't take his eyes off of her. Nor can he choose just one part of her to keep his eyes on. He roams from her tousled mane of curls to the rarely seen gloss on her lips, down past her cleavage to the expanse of her exposed thigh, the muscles shifting as she drives, his hands itching to feel the creamy expanse of skin.

"Stop staring."

"I really can't," he blurts out before he can stop himself but finds that he doesn't regret saying it. "You do know how hot you look right now, right? I mean, you're always gorgeous but tonight, you're a vision."

She blushes, the red creeping across her face to the tips of her ears, down her neck and across her chest. She ducks her head, allowing her hair to cover her face but the move tells him all that he needs to know.

"Just stop, okay?" she asks softly, embarrassment laced through the request.

He forces himself to face forward, regretfully tearing his eyes away but it was never his intention to make her uncomfortable so he can grant her this request. "Sorry," he mumbles, the rest of the drive occurring in silence.

* * *

He sticks close to her in the club, feeling free to take up his appraisal again now that her back is to him. She grips his arm to keep from losing him in the throng of women, her fingertips burning through the fabric of his blazer. A drunken patron stumbles into him, pushing him into Kate's back, his hands falling to her waist for purchase, her hands covering his to steady them. They both freeze at the proximity, stunned at the unfamiliar (but admittedly welcome) sensations. She shifts back, presses more firmly against him until her back is flush along his front. Her breathing has quickened, her shoulders rising and falling in time with her chest, the air moving though her slackened mouth.

He has to be imagining this. She was just moving out of someone's way. Except that there was less than an inch between them, so how far would she need to move anyway?

Then her head drops back against his shoulder, tilting away from him, exposing her neck in a way that is too deliberate to be anything but a suggestion. So he takes it as one, raises a hand to brush the remaining strands of curls away and experimentally lays his lips to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, relishes the shiver that quakes her body. He works his way higher, allows his teeth and tongue to join the fray, tasting, nipping, kissing his way up to her ear. She drags his hand at her hip across her abdomen, his hand splaying wide at her stomach, hips rocking into hers as he tastes the skin behind her ear.

She _moans_, the sound rising to end on a whimper, and he smiles against her neck, a wide stretch of lips that he can't contain.

"Get a room," a woman mutters as she brushes past them, clucking a sound of disgust. Reality snaps back into focus, dark and disappointing.

He expects Kate to drop her hands, maybe even push him away but she just threads their fingers together and tugs him along behind her.

Everything else fades away, the gyrating men on stage don't faze him, the throngs of desperate women don't register. This is the kind of place that the old Rick Castle is kicking himself for not coming to, it's a smorgasbord of hookups. But at this moment, his vision is tunneled to the sight of the siren leading him through the crowd, the taste of her skin still coating his mouth, the heat of her body still lingering on his.

She _wants_ him. She wants him as badly as he wants her.

She drops his hand as she slides up to the bar, placing both of hers on the edge of the brushed steel and gripping tight enough that the color leeches out of her knuckles. He can't keep his distance, can't think of a reason why he should and plants himself right behind her again, not touching, instead placing his hands beside her's on the bar, boxing her in.

"What was that?" he asks as close to her ear as he dares. She shudders, an amplified version of her earlier shiver and he smirks to know that he can do that to her with nothing but his voice.

"Later." The word scrapes out of her throat, thick with arousal and promise.

He dusts a kiss to the precipice of her jaw, murmurs, "I'll hold you to that," against her skin.

* * *

She flashes her badge to get things done, information from the bartender, moves some annoyed women off of a table near the stage. It's not what she usually does, especially when she goes to so much effort to not look like a cop.

He can't help but think that it's so that "later" occurs sooner rather than, well.

They sip their drinks as they wait for the next show to start (he has his fingers crossed that Hans will be the first one out so he doesn't have to suffer through too much of this), the thumping beat of the pop music blaring out of the speakers pulsing the already charged air around them. He's aware of her in a way that's almost painful, his skin too tight across his muscles, joints stiff as he fidgets, airways constricted. Castle feels it in every cell, his heart pumping it though his blood with every beat.

Anticipation.

They are magnets, the push and pull of their fields not always aligned but tonight, the draw towards her is too strong to resist. He watches his hand close the distance between them as if he's not even part of the action, feels the silk of her skin as he runs the back of his hand over her knee, the rasp of lace against his knuckles as he traverses higher, the open knit of the fabric catching as he circles a finger over her hip. He raises his face to hers, finds her eyes wide, her pupils pushing the hazel of her irises into a thin ring of color. The tip of her tongue darts out, just enough to wet her lips, before escaping back inside her mouth again.

He's leaning towards her when the lights go dark and the sirens go off, men in too bright yellow taking the stage.

* * *

He winces as he bounces off the wall, his head making contact with the drywall hard enough to rattle his teeth.

"What the hell was that?"

He rubs a hand over the back of his skull, finds the point of impact a little sore but not too bad.

"Castle!"

Right, he still hasn't answered her.

"Um, seemed like a good idea at the time?" He screws his eyes shut, bracing for another shove against the wall.

"Seemed unnecessary to me."

His eyes pop open to find her staring at him expectantly, impatience creasing her forehead. Why is she so mad at him? Those guys were all over her.

Ugh, those guys were all over her.

"It was getting out of control, he wasn't listening to you, none of them were. And their hands were…" he trails off, waving his own hands around in illustration.

"Were what?" she barks

"They were all over you! They were pawing at you and-"

She laughs, the sound bouncing down the hallway, her eyes bright. "_That's_ what this is about? You were _jealous_?"

He's flooded with indignation, how could she think that? He was just trying to help her, just trying to get all those sweaty, half-naked men to stop _touching_ her because how dare they? He takes a breath to refute her but everything that's running through his head makes her sound like she's exactly right.

So he straightens his spine, rising himself up so they're at eye level, squares his shoulders. "What if I was?"

He takes a breath to collect his thoughts but before he can say anything else, her hands are on his face, her lips fused over his. He swallows her whimper (that same glorious sound from earlier) as he wraps his arms around her waist, drawing the length of her body against his.

And then her lips slide wetly off his, she escapes what he thought was a vise grip and she's standing in front of him again, chiffon jacket hanging off one shoulder, lips pink and swollen, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"Good," is all she says before turning and walking down the hallway towards Hans' dressing room, adjusting her clothes as she goes.

He has no idea how her legs are that steady, how her knees are actually supporting her after that. He leans heavily against the wall as he watches her turn into a doorway.

"_Good."_

Her voice reverberates in his ears, the implication in that simple word setting his blood aflame. She not only wants him, she wants him to want her.

And that will not be a problem. Not even a little bit.

* * *

Kate's already scared information out of Hans by the time he joins her, the man babbling something about Derek's girlfriend and weekly flower deliveries. They exchange information, one of her cards for him, the stripper's contact information hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper for her and then she's breezing out of the room, Castle standing to follow.

"Dude," the blonde man calls out, whistling low in the wake of the detective. Castle raises an eyebrow in question. "She is _hot_," he says, the words laced with Jersey vowels.

"She's a lot more than just hot," the writer replies, chuckling at how little the other man knows about her, leaving him to his fantasies.

What use does Castle have for fantasy when the real thing is waiting for him?

* * *

She calls Ryan and Esposito from the car, has them start running down Hans' story to see if they can find Derek's mystery cougar.

It's an effort, but Castle manages to keep his hands to himself. He wouldn't be surprised if she kicked him onto the sidewalk if he distracted her while she was working. Besides, the faster all of this gets figured out, the faster the night is over and the faster they get to the aforementioned "later."

He has to wedge his fingers under his thighs to keep them from migrating toward her but whatever, he won't ruin this by being impatient. He's waited for her to want him this bad for almost three years, he can wait another few minutes.

They take the stairs and from his customary second position, he has no choice but to stare at her ass as she makes her way up. Not that he's complaining.

"Enjoying the view?" she asks between the second and third floors.

"Mmm-hmm," he hums in response and he swears that her hips sway a little more deliberately.

Evil woman.

He quickens his pace so that he's only a step behind her, snags her wrist as they mount the landing, spinning her to face him while simultaneously threading his other hand in her hair and laying claim to her mouth. She squeaks in surprise but quickly recovers, sliding her hands under his blazer and capturing fistfuls of his shirt, works her lips over his.

He summons his willpower to draw back, dropping his hands from her as well. "Oh, I forgot. It's not 'later' yet." He hears her huff as he turns to ascend the stairs again, smirking at her obvious frustration.

_Good._

* * *

He's uncharacteristically quiet as the boys fill them in on what they found. He's not listening, far too distracted with his own overactive imagination. He thought that it would be fun to give her a taste of her own medicine in the stairwell but all he did was make it worse for himself. At the beginning of the evening, he had no idea what that lace felt like under his fingers, what her mouth tasted like, how welcome it would be to have her warmth suffuse through his clothing, become a part of him.

And now that he knows, it's difficult to focus on anything else.

"Yo." He's jarred out of his reverie when Esposito kicks the foot that's dangling off Ryan's desk. "Hot former-supermodel and you have nothing to add?"

He looks at the expectant faces of Ryan and Espo, can see Kate suppressing a knowing smile in his peripheral vision. He shrugs, completely nonplussed by the ribbing. "Yeah, I got nothing."

"I'm disappointed in you." Ryan frowns at him.

"Hopefully you'll be back on your game tomorrow when we go to see her," Kate adds.

"Guess I'll have to see how my evening goes," he shoots back.

She narrows her eyes at him, a move that just yesterday might have made him scared but now he just quirks an eyebrow at her, holds her gaze in challenge. She breaks first, breathing out a soft laugh and shaking her head at him. The boys are looking at them suspiciously, flicking their eyes from one to the other, trying to figure out what's going on.

But "Good work, guys," is all Beckett gives them. "Go home, we'll see you after we've talked to Rebecca Dalton tomorrow."

She walks away toward the elevator and he pushes himself off Ryan's desk to join her. It's normal, just walking beside each other to the exit, they do that every day. Maybe this time he positions himself a little closer so their shoulders brush, guides her into the elevator car with a gentle touch to her lower back, slowly lowers that hand so that he brushes his fingers along her backside.

No, that part's not normal.

That's as far as it goes, though. As much as it seemed fine to kiss in the back stairwell, there seems to be an unspoken rule that hands are kept to themselves when exiting out the front. And when getting in the car. And when driving through Manhattan traffic.

She's fidgeting, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, left leg bouncing. It's so unBeckett-like that he chuckles a little to himself, the sound causing her to cut her eyes over to him for a moment.

"What?" The word snaps out of her mouth, brittle as ice and it is everything he has not to laugh even harder.

He twists in his seat – as best as one can in a seatbelt – and leans into her, resting his arm on the console. "Feeling a little anxious about something?"

Her face contorts in some mix of annoyance and delight, her jaw clamped tight, the tight line of bone pressing against her cheek, mouth twisted in some vein attempt to not grin. Her mouth betrays her though, the corners curling up and filling the spaces of what she's not saying.

He drops his hand to her leg, sliding his fingers to caress the soft skin of her inner thigh, smiling to hear her breath catch. He slides his hand higher, under the hem of her dress, rubbing circles against her skin as he goes. He chances moving higher still, close enough to feel the heat emanating from her center when her legs clamp closed, her hand dropping to grip his wrist and withdraw his hand.

"If you want to get any further than that, you need to not distract me while I'm driving," she pushes out through clenched teeth. She places his hand in his own lap before moving hers back to the steering wheel.

His fingers tingle with the ghost of her skin, curling into a fist to trap the feeling there, not willing to let it go yet. He shifts back in his seat, his pants a little tighter than before, his grin a lot more smug.

* * *

They stumble out of the elevator, feet clumsy but hands and lips never missing a beat. He's not even sure who started it, he barely remembers the rest of the drive. He does remember her leaning across the console and kissing him senseless before she slipped from the parked car, leaving him to follow. He caught up to her in the lobby as the elevator doors were opening and it's been a flurry of sensation since then.

He has one arm wrapped solidly around her waist, fingers tripping staccato over the uneven knit of the fabric of her dress, his other hand tangled in the irresistible mass of her hair. Her hands are both shot through his hair, her nails lightly rasping against his skull.

She mumbles something against his mouth but he catches it with another sweep of his tongue. Her hands grip his hair tighter, holding him in place as she draws back.

"Key," she breathes. "I need to get my key out."

He can accommodate that.

He spins her so that she's facing the door but doesn't go, his arm banded across her stomach as he lays waste to the smooth column of her neck. He's struck with the thought that they're in the position that started all of this and his siege crumbles against the grin that stretches his lips.

"Kate," he grits out.

"I'm hurrying," she says, finally producing the key from the corner of her clutch and sliding it in the lock.

She misunderstood though. He almost ruined it, him and his stupid overactive brain almost ruined the whole thing. He almost asked why.

Why now? Why tonight? They've been dancing around each other for years, what makes this so different?

She pushes the door open, the arm that's still around her forcing him to tumble in behind, the inelegant entrance drawing a bright peal of laughter from her. It's one of the most beautiful sounds that he's ever heard, made even more special coming from her.

"You got this?" she asks, escaping his hold and turning to face him, eyes glittering with amusement.

"Yep, no worries, all good," he assures. The words come out as little more than air, breathless as he is in the storm of her beauty. He reaches for her, skimming his fingers along her cheek, down her neck and then back up to cradle her jaw in his palm. That magnetic draw brings him in close and he kisses her but it's not like it was before. This is tender where that was frantic, soft where that was desperate. One of them moans, low and sweet and he couldn't tell you which of them the sound came from if his life depended on it.

He doesn't care why anymore.

She pushes his blazer off his shoulders and down his arms, allowing it to drop to the floor before she runs her hands up his back, clutching at the muscles on either side of his spine. She nudges him back towards the couch with a bump of her hips to his, a move that has him wanting to skip this part altogether, haul her into his arms and lay her out on the bed. But then her tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth, running the tip of it along the seam of his lips and he opens for her, reveling in the deepened kiss.

His calves bump against the sofa and he sinks onto a cushion but she doesn't come with him. He looks up at her, the soft light catching her features and he loses his breath all over again. Not only because of how gorgeous she is but also because of the look on her face. She's smiling, a soft curve on her lips that shines warm in her eyes.

He loves her. The thought hits him without warning but he can't deny it. He spent the entire summer missing her, dreaming of her, wishing for her and now that he's faced with what he thought was an impossible reality, the reason that he was unable to get her out of his head becomes clear. He's in love with Kate Beckett.

She's looking at him quizzically, always observant to the changes in him. "What?"

He almost blurts it out right then but needs to sit on the thought, get himself used to it before he springs it on her. He threads their fingers together, looks up at her and says "I'm just glad we're here together," instead. It's not a lie, not at all but the words taste like one against his tongue.

She sees it for the truth it is though, a wider version of that soft smile on her face. She kicks her shoes off and joins him on the sofa, straddling his lap, meeting her mouth with his. "Me too," she admits softly.

She still has that completely useless jacket on and he gladly divests her of it, tossing it across the room as he lowers his mouth to her collarbone, gently sucking at the thin skin, moving his way across to her shoulder, finally able to nudge that strap out of the way. The feel of her skin under his lips and tongue is narcotic and he is already addicted. His hands find her knees bracketing his hips, his palms sliding up the length of her thighs. At her hips, he finally finds the dress, hiked up to accommodate her position. He slides his fingers under the hem, dipping into the crease of her legs, sliding across the edge of her underwear. He pulls back from path he's making across her chest to look at her as he runs his thumb against the crotch of the soaked fabric. Her head falls back, a deep groan accompanying the move.

She has got to lose this dress.

He reaches behind her, fumbling for a zipper but finding nothing. So he feels on either side, knowing that sometimes they're hidden there, and comes up empty. She giggles at him, a bright tinkle of laughter, and grasps his hand in hers, lowering them to the hem.

"No zipper," she explains, raising her arms above her head. "No bra, either," she adds with a raise of an eyebrow.

He surges up to crash his mouth against hers as he lifts the dress up, staying connected until they have to separate to lift it over her head. He drops it to the floor as he sits back to get his first look at her. She is beauty defined, golden skin and rosy breasts and soft curves begging to be touched.

So he does.

He splays his hands around her ribs, rubs a thumb over each nipple, causing her to gasp a breath. He wants to hear that sound again so he pinches the peak between his thumb and forefinger and isn't disappointed. She grips at him, one hand on a bicep, the other behind her on one of his legs, her spine arching her chest into his hand.

He has no idea what he did right in his life to be at the altar of this goddess before him.

He abandons his hand on her breast, smiling at her groan of disappointment, holding her steady with his hands on her back as he turns on the sofa and lays her down on the cushions. She goes willingly, completely pliant and trusting of him. It makes his heart stutter in his chest, his traitorous mouth almost blurting out his earlier revelation. But when he looks down at her, hair haloed around her face, completely unashamed in her nakedness, his mouth goes dry, the words falling to ash in his throat.

That's when he notices that her goddamn underwear matches. He's not sure how he missed the black lace panties until now but the sight of them drags a laugh from him.

"Going for a coordinating outfit tonight?" he asks, tugging at the waistband of the garment.

She props herself up on her elbows, shoots him an amused look. "Never know who might be under there. Best to be prepared."

A surge of white hot jealousy courses though him at the thought of another man being where he is right now. "Planning on picking yourself up a stripper tonight, were you?" He meant to say it as a joke but can hear the strain in his voice.

As can she. Kate sits up, grabbing his face in her hands as she kisses him fiercely. "There's no one else I want here with me, Castle."

He nods, throat suddenly tight at her proclamation. "Good." It comes out as strained as before so he clears his throat and tries again. "That's good."

She explores his face for moment and seems to like what she finds because the desperate look in her eyes dissipates. "Kiss me," she whispers.

He gladly complies, laying her back down as he does, hands roaming down her body again, mapping the topography of her ribs, stomach, waist. He dips a hand lower, hovering between her legs for a moment before she presses her hips up, seeking his touch. But he denies her, starts down between her knees and works his way higher as his mouth abandons her lips and paints a trail across her jaw and down her neck. His hand reaches its destination first, one finger lazily trailing along the lace covering her heat as his mouth circles around the curve of her breast. Her breath is coming in pants now, sometimes accompanied with a quiet whimper. He flicks his tongue over her taut nipple and a strangled cry escapes her throat, the sound spurring him on. He pushes the scrap of fabric aside and drags two fingers through her slick folds while simultaneously sucking her nipple into his mouth. She cries his name, grabbing a fistful of his hair with one hand, the other scrabbling for purchase on the back of the sofa. He circles a fingertip over her clit, her hips bucking, before sliding his fingers back down to position them at her entrance. He pops his mouth off her breast, waiting. She looks down at him, wets her lips and nods. But that's not what he wants.

"Ask me." His voice is gravel, arousal swamping his veins.

"Please. Please, Castle," she begs. He's never been able to deny her.

He slides his fingers inside her and they groan simultaneously at the contact. He lowers his mouth to her other nipple, her hand falling to take up his post. He's lost in the sounds and flavors and sights of her. He watches her pinch and roll her own nipple, takes from her cues to add his teeth to the mix on the other, pleased that her own movements stutter for a moment. His fingers pulse in and out of her, her wetness pooling in his palm. Her cries are getting louder, the jerk of her hips more frantic. She's figured out that his name from her lips gets her a harder press of his fingers, a more insistent suck on her nipple and now it's just a litany of "_CastleCastleCastle_" from her. He circles his thumb over her clit and the pitch of her voice changes so he presses firmly over the nub.

She shatters, an incoherent mix of his name and non-words spilling out of her, her walls squeezing against his fingers, the hand in his hair pulling hard enough to hurt. Not that he cares, not that he can care as he watches Kate Beckett have an orgasm. An orgasm that he gave her. He caresses her hair as she rides the wave down, pressing light kisses against her cheek, her neck, her chest.

It's a long minute until her breathing evens out, another until she opens her eyes to him. Her face breaks into a wide smile when she catches him watching her. He withdraws his fingers from her, a catch in her breath as he does. He makes sure that he has her eyes as he raises his fingers to his lips, sliding them in fully and sucking them dry. She reaches up to grip the back of his neck, dragging him down to capture his mouth, sliding her tongue inside to share the taste of her tang.

He comes undone, completely unable to contain his need for her any longer. He slides his arms under her, hauling her bodily to him, her hands gripping at his shoulders.

He tears his lips away, commanding, "Bed. Now," before diving back in for more. They move together, standing as one, the height difference jarring for a moment before he remembers the loss of her shoes. The chauvinistic part of him loves it, loves that she's smaller than him in this instance, loves that she has to stretch up to continue to kiss him. He walks her backward towards the bedroom, her fingers nimbly undoing the buttons of his shirt as they go.

"You're wearing far too many clothes," she mumbles, moving to undo his belt once his shirt is open.

"Thank you for solving that issue for me," he replies, slipping out of the button down.

She pops the button of his pants and slides his zipper down, the vibration of the teeth shooting straight to his groin. He groans at the sensation, dropping his forehead to hers for a moment. She slides her hands beneath his undershirt, running her them along his chest in the act of removing it over his head. She drops a kiss to his sternum, across his pecs, paying reverence to this newly exposed expanse of his skin. She pushes up on the balls of her feet, hands on his chest for balance and kisses him again, loose and languid, her tongue sweeping lazy across his, lips moving with no purpose other than connection. He wraps both arms around her waist and lifts her the last little bit off the floor, her arms snaking around his neck to help, mouth continuing its task. And with the solid weight of her in arms, the feel of her skin on his, the spark of their kiss, he's struck again with his earlier thought.

He loves her.

He walks them the few more steps to the bed and lowers her to the edge of the mattress, gently pushing on her shoulders to encourage her to lie down. She scoots back and leans on her elbows, watching as he slides his pants and boxers down his legs. Her eyes are wide and hungry as they peruse his body, bottom lip caught between her teeth, thighs rubbing together almost unconsciously. He grins to himself, more than a little arrogant, as he bends down to step out of the clothing pooled at his feet, taking his socks and shoes with. When he stands back up, her thumbs are hooked into her underwear, poised to remove them.

"Leave those on." It comes out far more demanding than he had intended but it does the trick.

She raises her hands like a suspect at a crime scene. "So bossy in the bedroom," she comments, a quietly delighted smile curling her lips.

He laughs at that, a genuine roll of sound, as a wave of affection washes over him. Of course he had thought about this moment, of what it would be like to be with her, touch her, taste her. But for some reason, he'd never considered this part, the "them" part. How they would still banter and tease and still be the same people only far more intimate than ever before.

He loves her.

He comes for her then, laying the length of his body against hers, pouring everything he feels for her into the insistent press of his lips on hers. She comes alive beneath him, giving back as much he's putting out, meeting him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. It's so much, too much, he's overflowing. Breaking from his assault, he lays his forehead on hers, tries to calm his frantic heart.

"Kate," he breathes, her name a prayer and a plea, confirmation and affirmation.

"Hey." Her voice is soft but concerned, trying to soothe him but wanting to know. "You okay?"

He huffs a laugh. He is more than okay. He is the most okay he has ever been in his life. He raises a hand to thread through her hair, anchoring them together. "Kate, you have to know, I have to tell you-" he stops, his breath caught in his throat, completely unsure if this is the right thing to do.

Her hand comes up to caress his cheek, her nose bumping against his. "Tell me what, Castle?"

He swallows hard, knows that he is beyond the point of no return. "I love you."

She stills and he's gripped with fear that his stupid heart has caused him to lose her forever.

"I didn't mean to be," he babbles. "It just happened, I didn't even realize it until tonight and-"

She steals the rest of his words with a kiss and it tastes like a promise. "I'm not, not quite there," she stutters out against his lips. "Just be patient with me?" she asks tentatively.

"Of course," he's quick to confirm. "Anything for you, Kate."

She smiles at that, her eyes soft and open. It's a smile that he's never seen before, a secret smile just for him.

She runs her palm down his side, slips her hand between them to wrap her fingers around the hard length of him. His breath hitches as she rubs her thumb over his tip, glides her hand down and back up.

"Castle, show me. Show me how much you love me," she whispers.

He presses a kiss to her mouth before trailing kisses down her neck, though the smooth valley of her breasts, across the satin of stomach, curls his fingers in the waistband of the final barrier and tugs the lace panties down her legs, dropping kisses in their wake. He takes the same path back up, her knees dropping open as he settles himself between her legs.

"Do we need…?" he asks, shooting a look at her nightstand, kicking himself that he's waited until now to ask.

She shakes her head softly, "Clean and on the pill."

"Haven't been with anyone since my last all clear."

She reaches down to take him in her hand again, runs the tip of him through her moisture. "You feel that? That's how much I want you." She scrapes her teeth against his jaw, a groan shuddering though him, before moving her mouth near his ear. "Now let me feel you."

He needs no further coaxing, gladly sliding inside, aided by the evidence of her arousal. Her head presses back against mattress, her mouth open on a moan. He's breathless at the feeling of being sheathed in her, draws out slowly and pushes back in just because he can. He's out of his body, living in disbelief that they're here, that this is happening.

"Hey," she calls softly, that soft and delighted smile on her face again. "I thought I asked you to show me."

"Now who's bossy?" he throws back, a rough roll of his hips causing any retort she might have to escape on a sharp gasp instead.

They move together, the thrust and roll of their hips in a choreographed dance as if they've done this a hundred times. Though in a way they have, there's been plenty of push and pull between them for years, it shouldn't be a surprise that they excel at sex together. Castle can't get enough of watching her, watching her eyes widen and flutter closed, her mouth pucker and slacken, her chest heave and fall. He loves watching her watch them, her eyes continuously drawn to the place where their bodies are joined.

He reaches behind her for a pillow, wedges it under her hips, reaches behind him to grasp her behind the knee and folds her leg against her chest. He withdraws and thrusts back in at the new angle, grinning when a deep groan that sounds suspiciously like his name spills from her lips. He picks the rhythm back up and has her writhing in no time, hands fisted in her sheets, eyes screwed shut, a constant stream of noise from her, moans, groans and the occasional gasping sob.

He slows the rate of his movements, reaching down to pry one of her hands from its grip, threading their fingers together. He looks up to find her watching him, her eyes flooded with affection.

_Just be patient with me._

He leans down to kiss her and she meets him halfway, their mouths crashing together messily for a long moment. He eases her back down, joined hands beside her head as he starts the insistent roll of his hips again, the pitch of her voice rising as she crests higher and higher.

"Castle," she gasps between breaths. "Don't stop. Almost there."

He pushes into her harder, her movements sloppily trying to keep up with him. He presses a hand to her hipbone to still her movements, throws in a sharp thrust to make his point, his name caught in a sob inside her mouth.

"Look at me," he commands, her eyes meeting his a moment later. "Go ahead, Kate. Let go, I'm right behind you. I love you." It's his declaration that does it, her body seizing for a moment before she shudders around him, a deep guttural cry accompanying her release, a feral sound that he feels in his bones.

She takes him right with her, the orgasm flashing bright behind his eyes, hips twitching as he spills into her, her name a drawn out moan on his tongue.

He rolls them on their sides, sliding out of her as they go, holding her close as they both continue to come down. She tangles her legs with his, shifts even closer so that their chests and stomachs touch, buries her face in his neck. They're both sweat slick and radiating heat and can't let go. He feels her mouth opening and closing against his adam's apple, her foot rubbing against his calf.

And he feels the most content that he ever has in his entire existence.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._

_A/N: I felt weird saying this at the beginning but I wanted to mention this is my first explicit M fic. I hope it doesn't show. Too much._


	2. Last Call

_A/N: This a direct continuation of chapter 10 of Another Life. The people want, the people get._

_Special thanks to Bee and Jennifer for looking this over. _

* * *

**Last Call**

* * *

"_Take me home, Castle."_

Her voice is low and rough, desire making the edges ragged. She catches a flash of his eyes spilling over with lust as his mouth descends again. She's expecting it to be desperate, a fast and hot press of his lips to hers, a promise for later. She gasps when his touch is gentle, his lips softly capturing hers with a warm insistence, the tip of his tongue tracing her lower lip before he pulls back.

He tugs her towards the stairs, frees one of his hands from hers to pull his phone out, taps a contact and raises the device to his ear. "Hey, it's Rick Castle. Can the time on my earlier request be moved up? Uh, now? You're kidding? That's perfect. Yep, same location. Thank you." He ends the call as they arrive at the landing, the short ladder up to the bar before them.

"What was that?" she asks.

"Car service," he answers, pocketing the phone. "There's a car around the corner that'll pick us up."

"I have my car," she counters.

"Yeah, but if you're driving," he starts as he winds an arm around her waist, "how can I do this?" He lowers his head to press his lips to the dip of her clavicle, lightly scraping his teeth over the curve of bone before kissing his way up the long line of her neck. She doesn't even realize that he's moving her as well until her calves bump the ladder, his chest pressing into hers to lean her back against it. He is surrounding her, body and scent invading her senses. She hooks a leg around the back of his thigh to anchor him to her, seeking out his mouth with her own, gripping a hand in his hair as she sweeps her tongue past his lips, finds his just as eager. The ladder is sharp and cool behind her, he is soft in warm in front and she has no room for rational thought, allows herself to be caught up in the bombardment of feelings and sensations.

She doesn't even realize what she's doing until she feels his fingers closing around her wrists. "Kate, wait," he says against her lips, pulling her hands from his waistband where she was tugging out the tails of his dress shirt. "Not here." He sounds regretful, feels regretful as he takes a small step back from her. "I want to do this right."

She licks her lips, sucks a breath in through her nose and nods at him as her vision clears. "Yeah, me too." She pushes off the ladder to stand on unsteady legs, reaches out to grip his forearm for a moment to make sure they'll hold her up. She glances up at him and her breath catches at the mix of wonder and want on his face, his eyes shining with affection. She can't help but crash her mouth to his again for a moment, forcing herself to keep it brief before turning to climb up the ladder, Castle close behind.

She gathers their coats from where they left them at the table as he closes the office up tight. He takes the coat from her with a smile, folds it over his arm and offers her his hand. It's such a sweet gesture, so normal in the sea of abnormal that their path has been immersed in but it feels like the most natural thing in the world to slide her fingers through his and allow him to lead her out of the bar. The car is double parked in the street, the driver paying no mind to the taxi drivers shouting curses at him as he waits.

She slides across the bench seat to the far side and quickly realizes that Castle's dreams are about to be dashed. Because she was picturing a larger car with a privacy screen and this town car, while spacious, isn't quite what she had in mind. The driver is literally right there in front of them and there is no way that she's making out with Castle when another person is close enough that she could hear him breathe. Her seatmate clearly does not have the same reservations she does though, closing the distance between them and laying a hand on her jaw to orient her face towards his, kissing her soundly before she can voice protest.

She places her hands on his chest, the warm bulk of him distracting for a moment before she pushes him away gently. "Castle, no," she breathes, kicking herself as his face falls and he shifts away from her. "No, I don't mean not at all," she rushes to explain, reaching for one his hands and cradling it in both of hers against her sternum. "I don't want to be on display." She nods her head toward the driver as the man eases the car into traffic.

"Gary's very discreet," he assures her, relaxing and shifting back towards her, sliding an arm over her shoulders.

"I'm sure he is but when I'm with you, I only want to be with you."

He tightens his arm and pulls her against his side; she pillows her head on his shoulder and swings a leg over his knee. "I only want to be with you, too," he murmurs into her crown.

She drops the loose tangle of their hands into her lap, gently tracing circles on his wrist, his palm. When she trails her fingers up his forearm, he flips his hand to lay on her thigh, his fingers brushing the inseam of her pants. The feeling travels up the fabric, her already sensitive nerves picking up every vibration in the thread and her breath hitches.

His hand stills for a moment and then he does it again, dragging his palm up her thigh and his fingers on her inseam and oh god why isn't this car going faster? She rides the small crest of pleasure, body shuddering, the hand that was gently caressing his arm now gripping tight and somehow manages to not make a sound. Except for the part where she's panting through it. That can't have gone unnoticed.

"You okay?" His mouth is so close to her ear that his breath washes down her neck and that combined with the low and carnal tone to his voice sends another shudder through her.

She presses her lips together, hums "Mmm-hmmm" in reply. He chuckles softly and that earns him an elbow to the ribs though mainly because she needs a little bit of space. To collect herself, to breathe.

To not straddle his lap and have him right here in this car, Gary be damned.

She slides her leg off his, leaning forward to place her elbows on her knees, her face in her palms. His arm is still on her back, resting just under her shoulder blades. She wants to shake him off, get a little more space, but at the same time, she really does not want that. At all.

She lifts her face and drops her chin in one hand, glancing over her shoulder at him, a smile curling the corners of his mouth, crinkling his eyes and she feels a similar smile take over her face as well. Because she understands how happy he is to be here, to finally know where they stand. To know that it's together.

He leans forward to rest his chin on her shoulder, his arm slipping down so his hand settles on her hip. "I like you like this."

She huffs out a laugh. "Frustrated?"

He shakes his head, his chin digging into her shoulder. "Worked-up. I like worked-up Beckett."

She chuckles softly and glances over at him again. His mouth is _right there_ and it would take nothing to turn her head and kiss him. So she does. She just meant it to be brief press of lips at an awkward angle but the touch sparks another wave of want and before she knows it, Castle's hand is cradled along her jaw and he's turning her toward him. She comes willingly, her hands splayed hard at his ribs, trying to use that touch to keep her from floating away.

Because he's kissing her softly, gentle and reverent. Adoration and admiration in every brush of his lips, thankfulness in every sweep of his fingers against her side. He is slow and careful in his perusal, tongue darting out to run along her upper lip, taste at the corner of her mouth. She sighs into the kiss, a faint whimper lacing the exhalation. She shifts closer, swings her legs over his lap, opening to him, deepening the kiss. But he's determined to keep it gentle, uses his fingers on his face to keep her at a distance, the touches of his lips lighter than what she's pushing for.

How does he do that? How can he keep it contained? He's wanted her longer than she's wanted him (technically, anyway) so how is it that he's the one slowing them down when she didn't even want to make out with him in the back of this car in the first place?

But she gives in to his way of doing it. She lazily runs a hand up his chest, trips her fingers along his neck, slides them into his hair, idly circles a fingertip through the shorter hairs at his nape. He lowers his hand from her face, brushing the backs of his fingers over a breast as he goes, undoing the buttons of her vest and sliding a hand along her side, the heat of his palm burning her skin through the cotton of her shirt.

His lips over hers, his chest pressed into her side, the silk of his hair through her fingers, the feel of his hands on her, they're all new sensations and she lets herself drown in them, lets him have control because she trusts him.

And because he's really fucking good at this. She thought he might be but she really had no idea.

Somewhere though the jumble of sensations, she registers someone clearing their throat. "Mr. Castle?" Gary's voice cuts in, all businesslike politeness with no trace of embarrassment. "We're here."

They pull apart, barely, his forehead coming to rest at her temple, her eyes still closed as she tries to slow her breathing.

"Thank you," Castle replies, a little breathless, and the driver's door opens and closes, the back door of the car opening far too quick for her to have collected herself.

Castle nudges her legs off his lap and takes one of her hand in his, squeezing encouragingly. She opens her eyes to their joined hands, still surprised at how normal that feels as he slides out the car, pulling her arm as he goes. She follows and by some miracle, when she stands on the street, her legs actually hold her up. Castle shakes the driver's hand and she feels like she should say something, "thank you" or "I'm sorry" or "I'm sure you've seen worse" but before she can decide on anything, he's pulling her with him onto the sidewalk and into the building.

She's in a haze, still drowning in memories of his touch, anticipation of more. She barely registers the doormen greeting them "good evening" and the unfamiliar elevator. He pulls her against his chest when the door slide closed, puts a finger under her chin to raise her face.

"You still with me?" he asks teasingly.

"I think part of me's still in that car, actually," she answers, her honesty drawing a short chuckle from him.

The elevator chimes merrily and he takes her hand again to step out into the hallway and that's when she realizes that this is all wrong. When she told him to take her home, she didn't mean his home. His home with his daughter and his mother and this is all wrong.

"Kate?" he asks, his voice thick with worry.

"Castle, this isn't what I meant."

"What isn't?"

"They're gonna stare at us and then when I'm still here tomorrow they're gonna know and this isn't what I meant." She can hear herself babbling, hear the thread of panic that grows larger as she talks.

He looks at her confused for another moment and then it clicks and he steps in close to her, hands cradling her face, eyes filled with apology. "They're not here. Alexis is at a friend's house for a sleepover that was planned last week so I didn't even have to fabricate a reason to kick her out and my mother texted me while we were all still at The Old Haunt to let me know that she was going out with some friends after a play and to 'not wait up' which for her always means that she'll be home in the morning sometime." He searches her face for understanding, meeting his mouth to hers softly. "Kate, I wouldn't do that to you."

She takes a deep breath, lets the adrenaline dissipate. "You didn't seem mind when it was Gary," she jokes.

"Yeah, well, like I said, Gary's discrete. My mother," he pauses to grimace, "not so much."

She laughs at that, her face relaxing into a smile, an answering smile breaking open on his face as well. He drops another kiss to her lips and turns to make the rest of the trip down the hallway, opening the door and motioning for her to enter. She's not a stranger to his home but as she walks over the threshold, she can't help but recognize that this time is different. She turns to him as he closes and locks the door behind them and she can see it in him too, in the set of his shoulders, his movements carefully measured. She's not sure what to do with her hands, didn't she have something in her hands earlier?

"Crap! I left my coat in the car!" she exclaims.

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "So did I, I'll call them in the morning."

"Gee, I wonder how we managed that?" she teases, tip of her tongue caught between her teeth.

"Well, I think that I forgot right about-" he starts as he closes the distance between them, doesn't hesitate to put his hands on her, one tangling in her hair, the other sliding under the vest to settle at her waist. "Here," he finishes, laying his lips over hers. The tenderness he showed in the town car is gone, this kiss more insistent and laced with passion.

This was what she was looking for from him earlier but he was right to reign in her because now that she's had a taste of it, there's no way that she can contain herself. She kisses him back deeply, winds her arms around his back, splays her hands wide to hold him tight to her and slots her hips into his. She groans as she feels the insistent bulge of him pressed against her but it's not enough. She finishes her earlier task of pulling his shirttails out of his waistband, sliding her hands under the fabric to trail her fingers over his heated skin. He moans as she maps out his back with the whorl of her fingertips, breaks away from her mouth to blaze a trail across her jaw, down her neck.

He's been slowly leading them across the living room, she realizes as they cross the doorway into his office. His epicenter of creativity, the place where he created fiction that healed her, fiction about her. And now some of that fiction is becoming reality in the very place it was first written.

"Did you ever think about me?" she asks, her voice thready.

"I always think about you," he murmurs against her skin, his honestly making her heart stutter.

"I mean in here, when you wrote about Nikki and Rook." She pauses as a gasp escapes her when he scrapes his teeth over her skin. "Was it me drinking the tequila with you?"

He lifts his head to look at her, the dark desire in his eyes stilling her breath. "Did you think of me when you read it?"

She nods, the closest thing she's come to admitting that she did a lot more than think about him the first time she read page 105, the memory of her fingers between her legs adding more heat to her already stoked flame of want.

He kisses her, hard but brief, "Yes," he admits. "I did nothing but think of you for days to get it right."

She surges into him, pouring all of her desire into the press of her lips, fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, suddenly needing his skin on hers. Just needing him, all of him. His hands are at the front of her shirt as well, clearly of the same mind as her. They stumble into the bed room as they simultaneously push the shirts off each other's shoulders.

They also simultaneously pause as they silently acknowledge this line that they've already crossed, already in this too deep to go back. He hesitates, a hand hovering by her waist. But she doesn't want to go back, doesn't want him to question her, question this, so she steps into his hand, nudging her skin into his palm, sliding a hand up his bare chest, around the back of his neck, and pulling him to her for a thorough kiss. His hesitation is gone, both hands on her hips as he pulls her with him towards the bed. Her hands fall to his belt buckle, quickly undoing it and the button and zipper of his pants, the garment sliding past his hips to pool at his feet. He's not expecting his steps to be impaired and stumbles, his hands tightening on her, hers flying up to grip at him but it's no use and they tumble on the bed in a tangle of clothing and limbs and laughter.

She dips her fingers into the parentheses of his mouth, sweeps them up the bridge of his nose, swipes the pads of her fingers across his scrunched forehead like she's trying to feel his joy. He rolls half on top of her, nudges a leg in between her knees. It's a little awkward because his pants are still around his ankles like shackles but he manages. Their laughter subsides to soft chuckles as he settles against her, her heart picking up speed at the feel of his skin flush with hers, the obvious hardness of his arousal pressing into her hip. He's running a hand over her with no obvious destination, just running his palm over her shoulder, his fingertips down her sternum, the backs of his fingers across her stomach. His touch ignites a spark, fire blooming on her skin in the wake of his touch.

God, she needs him.

"You gonna do something about those?" she asks, waving an arm towards their feet.

"In a minute," he replies absently, his eyes trained on the skin that his hand is roaming, his answer implying that he could stay like this forever.

She cannot, will surely explode from want if he doesn't do something about the throbbing that has taken up permanent residence between her legs. She shifts enough to get a hand in between them, palming the length of his erection through his boxers. His breath hitches and then stutters on an exhale, his eyes snapping up to hers, dark and hungry. The exact reaction she was looking for.

"If you want a slow exploration, that can be arranged, I'll even give you a guided tour if you want. But can we save that for the next time or maybe even the one after that? Right now, I want you, I _need_ you." She slides her hand up over his hip, pressing her hand into him to bring him back where he was but he's frozen.

He's looking at her oddly now, lust still behind his eyes but something else too. "Next time?" he asks hopefully.

She doesn't understand why he would question it though. "Yeah. I just thought, unless you didn't…" She trails off, dropping her eyes, not wanting to see him if he says he doesn't want the same.

But then he's kissing her, hard and a little desperate, his forehead coming to rest against hers when he breaks away. "I do want a next time. But I want more than that, too. I want to be _with_ you."

She's flooded with relief, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "That's what I meant. I really think we could be something and I want that chance to find out for real."

A smile breaks his face open wide, awe shining bright in his eyes and he lowers his mouth to hers to softly capture her lips, the tenderness from earlier taking her by surprise for a moment but then she's giving it right back, promise and affection in her touches. Unlike earlier, it quickly builds to more, heat and want and desire battling for attention and winning. He eases himself off of her after a long moment, sliding down her legs as he stands, stopping at her feet to ease down the zippers of her boots and remove them and her socks.

It's funny to her that they've been shirtless and intimate yet somehow forgot that they still had shoes on. He leans down to disentangle the mess around his ankles, hopping as he pulls off his socks, the sight causing a giggle to bubble out of her throat, the uncharacteristic sound drawing his attention. He opens his mouth to say something but stops when her hand falls to the button of her pants, her fingers quickly popping it free and lowering the zipper. She hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and leans back to lift her hips off the bed, sliding both garments down her thighs, standing to step out of the clothes. Holding his eyes, she reaches behind her back to flick open the hooks of her bra, allowing the straps to fall down her arms, catching one of them on her index finger and holding it up for a moment, arching an eyebrow at him as she drops it to the floor.

He still hasn't moved, his mouth still half open on a quip that never escaped. She steps over to him, her proximity bringing him out of the trance, his hands on her immediately, skimming the sides of her breasts, sliding down to cup her ass and pull her against him roughly, his kiss brutal and claiming. Her head swims, her fingers clawing at his shoulders in some inane attempt to remain upright but her knees buckle at the onslaught of passion.

He's right there though, arms banding around her back to keep her from falling, shuffles them back to the bed. She drops to the edge of the mattress, her face level with the last barrier of clothing that separates them. She looks up at Castle, unsurprised to find his eyes already trained on her and reaches out to curl her fingers into the elastic band and draw the boxers down his legs. She slides off the bed to crouch at his feet, her fingers light touches at his ankles to encourage him to step out of them. She raises her eyes back up to him, pausing to admire the hard, ready length of him before meeting his heated gaze. She turns her head to press a kiss to the inside of his knee, paints a line of kisses up his inner thigh, smiling as she hears his breathing change, shallow hitches of air moving in his chest.

She's kneeling in front him as she presses her lips to the crease of his thigh, flicks her eyes back up to him as she roams her way to the base of his erection. He face is completely still, wide eyes and shock-slackened mouth. She lays the flat of her tongue to him and drags it up his length, a deep groan in his throat, her tongue swirling over his tip as his hand insinuates itself in her hair, tugging gently to get her attention.

"Kate," he forces out through clenched teeth, "I can't, I won't last if you don't stop." And, oh, does she want that, to take him deep between her lips until he spills into her throat, the taste of him still on her tongue as she kisses him after.

But not this time. She stands, barely on her feet when he's kissing again. She opens to him, swirling her tongue in his mouth the way she wanted to over his penis and he seems to understand what she's doing, another deep groan emanating from him. He spins them and brings her down with him onto the bed, scooting back towards the middle of the huge mattress, not bothering to pull down the comforter or sheets but she's glad for it because she's already warm enough.

She pauses, hovering over him, her knees bracketing his hips, and takes a moment to commit the scene to memory. He runs a hand down her arm, threading their fingers together and she adds that to the memory bank, how he can go from kissing her with abandon to the gentle touch of his hand in hers. She raises her eyes to his face, finds him smiling softly at her.

"Me too, Kate." It comes out as little more than a wisp of sound but somehow manages to echo around the room.

She raises their joined hands above his head as she leans over him, kissing him tenderly and full of affection, so much softer than the fire raging her demands but it's what she wants at this moment. His hand runs up her side, his touch stoking the fire again and she gives in, deepening the kiss, the spark in him answering, his hand traveling higher, stroking the underside of a breast, his thumb tripping over a peaked nipple. The kiss falls apart as she moans, stopping to catch her breath.

His nose nudges at hers, his breath hot against her lips. "Kate, I need you. Please, I need you." It's possibly the most beautiful thing she's ever heard him say.

She shifts back, taking his hand with her, unwilling sever that connection just yet, grasping him in her other hand and easing herself onto him. She forces herself to take it slow, to savor this because they only get one first time. He fills her, wholly and completely, the stretch of her inner muscles against him a delicious burn. She rocks against him experimentally and revels the sound of their moans mingling in the space between them.

They move together after that, rocking and pitching their hips in a glorious point and counterpoint. He disentangles his hand from hers but she can't lament the loss when both his hands begin roaming her skin, starting at her knees, moving up to press his fingers into her hips, sailing up her stomach to cup her breasts, drag his thumbs over her nipples.

She cries out, overwhelmed at the range of sensations but through it she can't help but think that this is exactly what she was wanting yesterday and now it's happening.

"Yesterday?" he questions, completely halting the movement of his hips, the sudden lack of friction drawing a growl of frustration from her.

Shit, did she say that out loud?

She's threated death in jest before but right now, if he doesn't get moving again, she might actually kill him. She attempts to roll her hips but his hands are holding her still, the look on his face making it obvious that she has to explain herself before they get back to business.

She pushes a breath out through her nose and shakes her head. It's mostly at herself because little more than a day ago she didn't think she'd ever tell him, let alone do so while she was naked and straddling him. "Yesterday, when you called me to come meet you at The Old Haunt, I was…in the middle of something."

"Oh really?" He practically crows it, his eyes sparkling with delight. He reaches up to hook a hand behind her neck, bringing her down for a kiss and she uses the fact that his hands aren't holding her captive any longer to lift up and bring her hips back down, a moan rumbling in her chest. He pulls back just enough to break the kiss and asks, "Do you always touch yourself when you think about me?" against her lips.

She scoffs. "Don't flatter yourself," she says as she raises and lowers her hips again, his twitching up to meet her as she slides back down, the quick and sudden impact drawing a gasp from her.

"Did you think of me when you read Heat Wave?" he asks, slowly rolling his hips against hers.

She nods, just a slight bob of her head, her lips brushing his with the movement.

"And did you touch yourself?"

She nods and he stills again.

"Tell me." It's not a request or a demand, it sounds like a plea. A plea to know the story.

"Yes," she breathes, "I touched myself and I wanted it to be you." He kisses her for that, hard, punctuates it with a rough thrust. She sits back, settling herself fully on him again for a moment before she starts rocking.

And then she continues her story. "I wanted to feel you kissing me." His eyes widen as she places an open mouthed kiss to her own wrist. "I wanted to feel you touching me." She splays her hands on her stomach and runs them up her skin, cupping and squeezing her breasts, grasping her nipples tightly and gently pulling, groaning loudly at the frission of pleasure that bursts low in her belly. She opens her eyes to find his pinned on her, lust swirling in his irises. She lowers her hands to place them on his chest, her fingers tensing against his skin for balance as she leans forward. The change in position gives him just enough leverage to pick up a rhythm, the positioning hitting her just right, bright bursts of release starting to build but she has to tell him this last part.

"And when I slid my fingers inside myself, I wished it was your cock fucking me."

He raises his face to hers, catching her bottom lip between his teeth with a growl, his thrusts a little harder, a little more insistent.

"Did you say my name?" he asks.

She nods at him, teetering on the very edge, her world unraveling.

He withdraws almost completely out of her. "Say it now," he demands, slamming himself back into her, _hard._

She comes apart, his name leaving her lips on a scream, the roiling chaos of the orgasm crashing wave after wave of delicious pleasure over her. Her back bows, her body curling in on itself as if it's trying to trap the feeling there forever. Her fingernails dig into his flesh, looking for an anchor hold in this storm she's weathering. She feels his chest rumble under her hands, distantly hears him groaning something that might be her name, his body shuddering beneath her. Unless that's her shuddering. She's not really sure where he ends and she begins right now.

The pleasure is relentless, its grip unyielding, she keeps waiting for the last wave to come but it never does. It's making her skin too tight, her vision swim. She slams her eyelids shut and tries to breathe through it, whimpers and cries escaping her lips with each exhalation. No man has ever made her feel this much for this long. Castle's hands are on her face now, brushing back her hair, swiping moisture over her cheek with his thumb. Oh shit, is she crying?

"Hey, you okay?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

"Mmm-hmm," is all that she manages to reply with, a shockwave wracking her when he threads a hand in her hair, his fingers brushing the back of her neck.

"Are you still…?" Now he sounds awed, amazed.

"Mmm-hmm," she confirms with a nod.

He pushes himself up into a sitting position, his arms winding around her back as his mouth attaches to her neck, each hot, wet press of his lips drawing a sharp cry from her. He turns them, laying her down as his mouth traverses lower, finally, mercifully drawing one of her nipples between his teeth, a curse spilling from her. The flash of bliss shoots right between her legs and she knows what she needs. She grabs one of his hands and drags it across her stomach, dipping their fingers in the tip of her moisture, rubbing her fingers and his over her clit, the familiar feel of her own touch combined with the new sensation of his arching her back, pressing her hips into their hands, a stream of curses flowing now.

She moves to withdraw her hand and his fingers tighten around hers. "Don't," he gasps roughly, his tone causing her eyes to open and seek out his. "I want to see you touch yourself when you think about me." The gravel of his voice gets under her skin, plucks at her already taught nerves. She draws a shallow breath, the exhale a jagged staccato. This man is going to end her, she is sure of it.

But she shakes her head at him. "No, I want the real thing." He opens his mouth to say something else but she just, just _needs him._ "Please, Castle," she begs on a whine, her supplication spurring him to action.

He lifts himself up to steal a fast, hot kiss from her, his fingers circling around the throbbing bundle of nerves at her request, so close to where she wants him to touch her but not quite there. He lowers his head to her breasts again, sucking her other nipple into his mouth as he massages his fingertips over her clit, pressing down with increasing pressure.

That slow press shoves her over, the final, violent wave overtaking her, her body arching off the bed, one hand fisted in his comforter that they never bothered to pull down, the other gripping his bicep hard enough to bruise, a stream of sobs and _"Fuck" _and_ "Oh god" _and_ "Castle" _babbling from her.

He lies down next to her, holding her as she comes down, gulping in air to catch her breath. He drops barely there kisses to her cheeks, her jaw, her shoulders. She turns her head to steal one of them from his mouth and his face breaks open on a grin.

"You're beautiful," he tells her, shaking his head at himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth. "Which I realize is one of the most clichéd things that I could say right now but it's true, you are."

She smiles, his blundering compliment ringing true. "You're amazing. Also clichéd. Also true. So we're even."

She drapes an arm over his waist, snuggles against his chest, sighing as his hand comes up to settle heavily at her jaw. Sated, exhausted and happy, she falls asleep in his arms.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._


	3. Lucky Stiff

_A/N: This is directly tied to the first chapter of this fic (Almost Famous) and assumes that there's an established relationship at this point. This will be the last chapter of this little M-rated adventure, thanks for all the support along the way._

_Special thanks to Ky for the super fast beta. _

_For Bee. You can quit bugging me for the rest of this now._

* * *

**Lucky Stiff**

* * *

They've been together for a number of months now and he's seen so many sides of her, more than he even dreamed she had. Playful and mischievous, devastatingly sexy, affectionate to the point of sappy, passionately angry or passionately loving, and he's adored them all.

But this one in front of him, this free-flowing being swaying her hips with abandon? This one is new. And oh, so hot. So achingly hot.

The dress was bad enough, had a growl escaping his throat as she exited the bathroom, pleated black satin clinging to her every curve. She laughed and pushed him off when he spanned a hand over a hip, dipped his head to taste her neck, his other hand caressing the stands of her hair he had brushed back.

"We don't have time for this," she admonished, but her voice held no anger, actually had a note of longing in it.

And he wanted to push her, insist they had at least a minute but he knew that it would be much, _much _longer than that if he started anything. He sighed and let her go, her hand rising to sweep her fingertips along his jaw as she went, and he had to clench his hands into fists to not pull her against him and meld his mouth to hers.

She was right to insist on driving because, for one, there's no way that he could have pulled off that entrance but mostly because that way he got to watch her hair dance in the wind, her eyes glitter with excitement, the tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth as she hit the accelerator.

And now she's sashaying towards him, pressing right up against his front with a full body undulation, all the blood in his body rushing straight for his groin. He's actually grateful for the fact that his arms feel too weak to move because he would have them around her in a moment and drag her straight into one of the many dark corners this club seems to specialize in. He'd pin her against the wall, hike the dress up around her hips and drive into her until she sunk her teeth into his shoulder, muffling her cries against his skin. He'll have to keep this little idea in mind for a future outing.

She runs a hand up his chest, curves her fingers around the back of his neck and lifts her mouth to his ear. "Get us some drinks and keep your eyes peeled for Oz, okay?"

It takes him a moment to put the words together into something that makes sense because he actually forgot that they're here for a case. But she's all business, voice steady, steps sure. She turns to walk away, her hand sliding in the reverse of its earlier path and he has this sudden, childish need to knock her off her game a little. He grasps her wrist as her fingers are about drop from his blazer and tugs her back to him, cups a hand along her jaw and makes a rough claim to her mouth, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth and letting her skin scrape along the edges as he pulls back. Her eyes open wide to meet his, her pupils fathomless, and she draws in a breath like she's drowning. It reminds him of their first time and that case at the male strip club when she shoved him against a wall, kissed him when he was least expecting it and then left him there in a stupor.

She deserves payback for that. And she is getting it if the way her hand is twisted into his shirt like a lifeline is any indication. Her eyes clear and they narrow at him in something that she probably thinks is a glare but he is still far too proud of himself to be affected by it.

"Let me get those drinks," he says, his voice light, a smile that he knows is too smug –but he can't turn off- curling his mouth.

She huffs a laugh out and shakes her head at him before turning away and melting into the crowd, people parting easily for her, her presence undeniable. He watches until he loses her brunette curls in the fray and only then does he release a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

He was trying to give her some payback but he wasn't entirely kind to himself in the process.

* * *

They hand Oz and his body guard off to the officers out front and she asks for her phone as they wait for the Ferrari to be brought around by the valet.

"Espo, you have a couple of visitors heading your way. Let them cool off in the box for a little while, I gotta go home and change."

Change. That means that she needs to take that dress off. And he knows just the man to help.

He crowds at her back as she finishes the call, a palm resting heavy on each of her hips. "I've been wondering about something all night," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he speaks.

A shiver ripples through her and she turns her face toward him, glancing at him through her lashes. "What's that?" she asks, her voice thick with lust.

"The last time you were in a dress this sexy, your underwear matched. I'm curious to know if it does again."

The car pulls up as he's speaking and she doesn't answer, just throws him a heated look over her shoulder before taking the keys from the attendant and sliding into the driver's seat.

He's impressed with himself that he's cognizant enough to tip the man.

* * *

It does.

She slides the zipper down and lets the dress pool to the floor the moment they step into his bedroom, revealing the black satin bra and panties.

"So, to answer your query from earlier," she starts, the rest of what she might have said muffled by his mouth on hers because he cannot wait one moment longer.

The kiss falls apart under her grin, so obviously pleased with herself and he laughs at her, a soft chuckle curling in the space between them. The sound seizes in his throat when her teeth scrape against his jaw, a soothing press of her lips in their wake. She makes her way to his neck, teeth and tongue and lips mapping a trail down to his chest, her fingers flicking open the buttons of his shirt to continue her path. He clutches at her, his hands roaming endlessly to touch as much of her as possible.

He bumps up against the bed, dropping to sit at the edge, his hands sliding down her sides, past her hips, settling against her thighs as she remains standing. Towering over him, really, because she's still in her shoes, the combination of the heels and her current state of undress blooming arousal in his groin. He rakes his eyes up the endless line of her legs, the creamy plane of her stomach, the valley of her breasts, the graceful arch of her throat, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers. She's watching him with amusement, her eyes glittering.

"Enjoying the view?" she asks.

"Four star accommodations, would recommend," he quips.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "To whom?"

"Okay, first of all, no one, I want exclusive use of this resort, thank you very much." She makes an indignant noise and he knows that he's going to pay for that one but continues on before she can voice protest, "Second of all, you are so hot when you use whom correctly."

She shakes her head at him for that, the indignation replaced with that glittering amusement of earlier, and she swoops down to kiss him, her hands dropping to complete her task of opening his shirt. She sinks to her knees in front of him as she gets to the last few buttons, her lips still insistent against his, her tongue stroking inside his mouth in some attempt to be closer to him. Her fingers move to the button and zipper of his pants, undoing them and sliding her hand in his boxers so quickly that she has her hand wrapped around him before he realizes what she was doing. He breaks away from her with a groan, the sensation of her slender fingers around his length effectively robbing his brain of all logical thought.

He tugs at her to join him on the bed but she shakes her head at him, lowering her mouth to his chest, dropping open mouth kisses down his sternum, his stomach, moving lower and lower and he drops his head back as she pulls his erection free of the clothing. Her kisses don't stop; she presses one to his base and then continues up his shaft, adding presses of her tongue as well. He breathes heavily through the onslaught of his firing nerves, his hands gripped around the edge of mattress so tight that his joints protest.

And then her mouth is at his tip, her tongue spiraling around the velvety skin, her lips following behind and she's taking him into her mouth, enveloping him in moist heat and oh god, this woman will one day be his undoing and it will be the best day of his life.

Her hand and her mouth work together, one of them touching every inch of him at all times, her hand twisting, her mouth sucking and sliding, her tongue keeping constant pressure all the while. He rides the waves of pleasure, her movements cresting him higher and then gentling to bring him back down but there's only so much he can take. He slides a hand in her hair, grazes his nails over her scalp. The action makes her hum, the vibrations from her throat shooting bright bursts through his body and it's almost over in that moment. The hand in her hair tightens and that gets her attention, causes her to slide her lips from him with a soft pop, her eyes flicking up to him in question.

"I know that we don't have time for a round two and I have really got to be inside you right now," he pants out.

"Weren't you just…?" she trails off with a tease in her voice and a glint in her eye.

He growls and leans down to capture her lips, the kiss a little harsh, a lot lustful. She shimmies out of her underwear even as her lips paint over his until she has the fabric at her knees and then she pulls away from him regretfully as she stands and lets them drop to the floor, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra and shed it as well. He wriggles out of his pants and boxers – much less elegantly than her exit from her clothing – kicking them off the ends of his feet and hooking an arm around her waist to bring her with him onto the bed. She kneels over him, her knees bracketing his hips but before she can settle over him, he rolls them over. He wants the advantage tonight; he wants to be in control. And she lets him. He loves that she lets him. Out there, on a case, she's in charge, it's her lead he follows but when it's just them, she relinquishes some of that hard won control because she trusts him. And damn if that trust doesn't just make him love her more.

She raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't say anything; he knows that she knows what he's doing. He sits up on his knees for a moment, finally shedding the button down that she had long ago opened, the cotton stifling on his overheated skin. He leans over her again, diving straight for her mouth and she's open and ready for him, her tongue slicking over his greedily. He reaches between her legs and finds her folds drenched with arousal, mirrored moans rumbling from both of them as he slips his fingers through her, dips an experimental finger inside.

"Stop teasing," she says on a gasp, her hips bucking up to meet his hand.

"Just making sure you're ready," he replies with a grin as he removes his hand and positions himself at her entrance.

"Please," she scoffs, "with the way you've been looking at me all night, I've been ready since we got out of the car at the club."

He kisses her for her honestly, deep and hard for a long moment before sliding his full length inside her. She breaks away, her head pressing back into the pillow and a long "yesssssss" hissing from between her teeth. He heeds their limited time frame (and his burning need), his hips pumping in a steady rhythm, the moans and cries falling from her lips only urging him on. She meets him stroke for stroke, their tandem movements racing them to the finish.

"Kate, are you…?" he chokes out, his release a spring coiled tight in wait.

She curls her fingers around his neck and raises up to press a sloppy kiss to his mouth, murmurs, "Let go, Castle" against his lips, her inner walls tightening against him with her words, her hand going slack and falling with her back to the mattress as her orgasm overtakes her. He releases the air that he had been keeping so controlled in his lungs, a deep groan accompanying the exhale as the tidal wave of pleasure roars through him. He collapses next to her as he comes down, gasps of air lengthening to actual breaths. His vision clears to find Kate laying her side, watching him with a contented smile curving her lips. She leans over to kiss him briefly before moving to roll off the bed.

"Hey, where are you going?" he protests, sitting up to see her pull a fresh pair of underwear out of her drawer in his dresser, the action making his heart flutter ridiculously. Her drawer.

"We do still have a suspect to interrogate, remember?" she answers with a lift of an eyebrow while she makes her way to the closet, stooping to pick up her dress on the way.

"Oh yeah, that," he mutters as he flops back on the bed.

* * *

"Sure took a big step down in the wardrobe department," Oz comments when they enter the interrogation room.

Castle tries to hide his agreeing scoff in a clearing of his throat but from the look Kate shoots his way, he is clearly unconvincing.

At least he knows he'll be there when she changes out of this outfit as well.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._


End file.
